


Origami

by GreyMichaela



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Nolan doesn't know how to use his words, Obliviots in love, Pining, meanwhile Travis uses too many
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25209415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: TK is sitting cross-legged on the hood of Nolan’s car, head tilted back and eyes closed. Nolan stumbles to a stop, all rational thought scattering. TK looks blissful, like a well-fed cat lounging in the sun. The corners of his mouth curve up, and he sort of… wriggles in place, like he’s just so comfortable he can’t contain it.Nolan hates him.“Why didn’tyouhave to do an interview?” he snaps, dragging his keys from his pocket.TK blinks his eyes open, languid and slow, and smiles when he sees Nolan glaring at him. “Cuz you’re prettier.”Nolan trips over the parking stop and nearly falls. He pops up, outraged, to see TK laughing, arms wrapped around his ribs and head tipped back, so Nolan does the only reasonable thing in the situation—he shoves him off the hood.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 18
Kudos: 395





	Origami

**Author's Note:**

> Work of fiction, etc.
> 
> Title from the song by Scott Helman. [Do yourself a favor and listen to it if you haven't.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AxqUdGEud8g)
> 
> It occurred to me that as much as I love this pairing, I hadn't written anything focusing on just them, so I decided to fix that.

Nolan’s had a lot of practice controlling his emotions. After all, he’s been trained to handle the media. If he can give an interview to a precocious nine-year-old girl while TK giggles next to him and still manage to keep a straight face, he can handle anything. Hell, he’d rolled with Katie’s bit when she pretended to swap bodies with Gritty, hadn’t he?

After that, nothing can faze him.

Until he walks into the kitchen to find TK wearing one of his jerseys, standing at the stove and humming tunelessly to himself. His feet and legs are bare, and he scratches the back of one calf with his toe as Nolan watches, unable to tear himself from the sight. His jersey sleeves are so long on TK’s shorter arms that he has to keep constantly shoving them up, and the entire thing is hanging off one shoulder enough to show that TK’s definitely not wearing anything else underneath it.

Nolan is rooted to the floor. All he can see is his own name emblazoned across TK’s back, like a—like a brand. Like he’s staking his claim. Like TK is _his._ He swallows hard and TK turns to grab something from the fridge, catching sight of him in the process.

“Oh hey bud!” he greets him. “Breakfast coming right up.” He pauses and inspects Nolan’s face, mobile brows drawing together. “You feeling okay there? You’re looking a little… pinker than usual.”

Nolan snaps out of his fugue and gives him a glare that immediately makes TK put both hands up.

“Just asking, jeez.”

“Why are you wearing my jersey,” Nolan asks flatly.

“Nothing else was clean,” TK says, turning back to stir what smells like eggs. “‘Sides. I may not be as pretty as you but I think I still make it work.”

“Take it off.”

“No,” TK says without looking up.

“Take it _off,”_ Nolan repeats, increasingly desperate. If he has to keep _looking_ at TK in his jersey, he’s… he’s just not going to be responsible for what happens, okay?

“Fine, but I’m completely naked underneath,” TK warns, and reaches for the hem.

“Oh my _god!”_ Nolan squeaks, and flees.

He sits through an excruciating interview with two reporters who try to establish a ‘rapport’ with him, whatever that is. Nolan keeps his answers short and doesn’t look either of them in the eye, hands in his lap and feet hooked around the rung of his chair.

Finally, they give up in disgust and one of them yells _“cut!”_

Nolan yanks the microphone off his shirt, nods sort of in their direction, and bolts for the parking lot.

TK is sitting cross-legged on the hood of Nolan’s car, head tilted back and eyes closed. Nolan stumbles to a stop, all rational thought scattering. TK looks blissful, like a well-fed cat lounging in the sun. The corners of his mouth curve up, and he sort of… wriggles in place, like he’s just so comfortable he can’t contain it.

Nolan hates him.

“Why didn’t _you_ have to do an interview?” he snaps, dragging his keys from his pocket.

TK blinks his eyes open, languid and slow, and smiles when he sees Nolan glaring at him. “Cuz you’re prettier.” 

Nolan trips over the parking stop and nearly falls. He pops up, outraged, to see TK _laughing,_ arms wrapped around his ribs and head tipped back, so Nolan does the only reasonable thing in the situation—he shoves him off the hood. 

TK squawks as he falls, a wild flailing of arms and legs, and Nolan spares half a second to hope he didn’t actually injure him, if only because he’ll never hear the end of it.

Thankfully, TK bounces to his feet like a fucking jack-in-the-box, and he’s _still_ chortling as he grabs the passenger door and slides inside.

Pity. Nolan would have absolutely left his ass if he’d been able to move fast enough.

As it is, he gets behind the wheel and stares thunderously in the mirror as he puts the car in reverse.

“Why so cranky, Pats?” TK says. That’s his cajoling voice, the one he uses when Nolan’s acting like a bear with a sore tooth. It makes Nolan want to punch him.

He puts the car in drive and then grips the wheel with both hands, refusing to look at TK.

“Was the interview bad?” TK asks, and there’s something like concern in his voice. “Did they ask you about your migraines? Because I swear to God I’ll—”

“No,” Nolan cuts him off. “They didn’t—shut up.”

“They didn’t shut up? Or are you telling _me_ to shut up?”

“Shut. Up,” Nolan says through his teeth, and TK snickers, slouching comfortably and putting his feet on the dash.

“Seriously, Patty, you need someone beaten up, you let me know. I’ll get Hayes on it immediately.”

In spite of himself, this makes Nolan snort. “Hayesy couldn’t intimidate a fruit fly.”

“Well no,” TK allows. “But he’s big, and if I tell him to cross his arms and sort of loom threateningly, it could work. As long as he keeps his mouth shut.”

“Like you have any experience there,” Nolan snipes, and ignores him the rest of the way back to their building.

TK insists he come out with the boys after a win, despite Nolan’s protests. He _could_ have said no to TK, Nolan thinks to himself. Probably. But the second Carter batted his big, stupid eyes at him, it was game over. He’d folded like a cheap suit, and now here he is, relegated to fetching more beer because ‘you’re not allowed to drink anyway, Patty, so you might as well be useful’.

He hates this team.

He’s leaning against the bar, waiting for the bartender to fill the last few mugs when someone nearly runs into him. Nolan staggers but doesn’t go down, his arms full of giggling blonde suddenly. She’s got her arms around his neck and her hair smells like flowers. She’s warm and soft where she’s pressed up against him, and something stirs in Nolan’s belly. It’s been… a very long time.

“Oops,” she says, smiling up at him. “I’m so clumsy. Did I hurt you?”

Nolan sets her back on her feet. “I—no. I’m fine. Uh… are you?”

The girl dimples and tosses her hair. “I’m great, sugar. What’s your name?”

“Nolan.” 

“Aspen. Are you here with anyone?”

Nolan points wordlessly at the back of the room and the team gathered around the table, and Aspen’s eyes light up. “Are those the _Flyers?_ Wait, that would make you—oh my god, you’re Nolan Patrick!”

She’s clearly delighted, sidling closer and looking up at him through her lashes, and Nolan can’t help smiling back at her.

“Wanna go somewhere quieter?” she asks, and just then there’s a loud _thud_ from the back and TK’s voice soaring in outrage. 

“I’m—I can’t, sorry,” Nolan says, and runs for the back.

He gets himself between TK and the guy towering over him just in time to catch the guy’s wrist as he tries to throw a punch. He grabs TK’s shirt with his other hand and shoves him back hard enough to make him stumble before turning to face his aggressor.

Who is… very large, and _very_ aggressive. Even his beard seems to be bristling with testosterone as he glares at Nolan. 

“That’s right, run to mommy,” the man taunts TK, who gasps in fury. Nolan stops him without even looking.

“Whatever he said, I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” he tells the man, who sneers.

“Yes I did,” TK pipes up.

“Not _helping,”_ Nolan says through his teeth. Is anyone else from the team going to step in here, or were they just enjoying the show? A quick glance at the table shows them deep in conversation, heads together. No one seems to have even _noticed_ that TK’s gotten himself in trouble again.

He _really_ hates this team.

The man reaches out and shoves Nolan’s shoulder, just hard enough to push him back a step.

“Ooh, shouldn’t have done that,” TK says.

“Look, buddy,” Nolan says to the man, shooting TK a venomous glare. “I’m actually doing you a favor here. This idiot not only doesn’t fight fair, but he’s got at least three STDs that I know of. Or is it four now, Teeks?”

“Three as of last week,” TK says cheerfully. “Doc says the gonorrhea’s finally cleared up.”

The man takes a step back, staring at TK, who blows him a kiss.

“And he bites,” Nolan continues. “When he’s fighting, I mean.”

“Oh, I bite other times too,” TK chimes in. “But definitely when I’m fighting. Wanna find out what it feels like, princess?”

They stand side-by-side as the man looks back and forth between them, then finally shakes his head.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, and dives into the crowd.

“Asshole,” Nolan grumbles.

“I know, right?” TK follows him back to the table. “Did you get our beers?”

“I meant _you,_ and _fuck_ I was too busy saving your scrawny ass. You go get them, you want them so badly.” He flops at the table beside Oskar, crossing his arms.

Oskar smiles at him. “Good to see you, Pat. You look good.”

“Yeah, um… so do you.” Nolan rubs the back of his neck. “We were like, worried about you or whatever.”

Oskar’s eyes crease with his widening smile as TK comes back with the tray full of beers and sets them down. He flops into the chair beside Nolan and drapes an arm across his shoulder as he takes a long swallow from the mug.

“What happened to the— _urp_ —girl?” he says when he’s done.

Nolan stares at him. “What girl?”

“The one hitting on you right before you saved my ass,” TK says.

Nolan sits upright and looks toward the front, but there’s no sign of blonde hair. She must have gotten tired of waiting.

“Goddammit, you fuck everything up,” he mutters under his breath and crosses his arms as he slouches back in the chair.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” TK says. “Hey, I’ll be your girlfriend!”

Nolan stares at him incredulously as everyone within earshot bursts out laughing. TK grins, clearly pleased with himself.

“I’m a genius,” he says complacently. “Look, I’ll pet your hair—” Nolan jerks his head away from TK’s reaching hand, doubling the amount of murder in his eyes, but TK doesn’t seem to notice. “And I’ll bring you drinks—”

“I’m not _allowed_ to drink,” Nolan snaps.

“Which is why I brought you a lemonade. With real sugar,” TK adds, plucking a glass from the tray with a flourish. “No preservatives, nothing that could trigger your migraines, just lemons, filtered water, and sugar.” He sets it in front of Nolan, who stares at it the way most people would stare at a rattlesnake.

Hayes applauds. “Gotta admit, Patty, that was some thoughtful shit right there.”

“I don’t have to admit anything,” Nolan growls.

“Plus you’ll be the pretty one,” TK adds.

Nolan twists to stare at him incredulously and TK beams right back. “Look, I’ll even let you hold my hand.” He grabs Nolan’s hand before Nolan can react, lacing their fingers together and now he’s resting his head on Nolan’s shoulder, and he’s a heavy, solid bundle against him, and Nolan abruptly can’t bear it.

He wrenches his hand away and shoots to his feet in the same movement. “I’m going home.” He bolts as the entire table stares, not looking back.

Someone bangs on his door not long after he gets home, but Nolan ignores it. He threw the deadbolt so TK can’t use his key, and he’s absolutely not interested in talking to _anyone_ at the moment, least of all his mouthy, obnoxious best friend who always says the wrong thing.

“Pats!” TK shouts. “Let me in!”

Nolan ignores him, going to the kitchen for a glass of water. TK keeps knocking—well, pounding—on the door. 

“I’m not going away!” TK yells.

“Sleep in the hall for all I care,” Nolan yells when he comes back out, and TK kicks the door.

“You fucker, just let me the fuck in!”

“No!”

“Let me in!”

_“No!”_

A third voice cuts through the racket, quelling them both. “Nolan James Patrick, if you don’t open this door and let him in right now, I’m benching him next game.”

Nolan freezes in brief horror and then jerks the door open. Claude regards him calmly, one brow raised.

“You wouldn’t.”

“You know I would,” Claude says. “Figure your shit out.” He puts a hand on TK’s shoulder and shoves him, not gently, through the door. TK trips and falls into Nolan, who catches him automatically. And lets him fall in the next breath.

TK yelps when he hits the floor and Claude sighs. 

“I’m leaving. Don’t murder each other.”

The door slams shut behind him and TK rolls to a sitting position and crosses his legs. He gives Nolan an expectant look and Nolan throws his hands in the air and stomps for the bedroom.

TK follows, obviously.

“What do you _want?”_ Nolan demands, digging in his dresser for something comfortable to wear.

“I want to know what’s going on with you,” TK says. “You’ve been bitchy for days.” He stops to consider. “Bitchier than usual. So what’s eating at you?”

“Nothing,” Nolan snaps. He heads for the bathroom, but TK’s right behind him. Fine. TK won’t give him privacy? He asked for it.

He shoves his pants off and peels his shirt up over his head in the next fluid movement. Behind him, TK makes a noise somewhere between a small dying mammal and a leaking hot air balloon, and Nolan peers suspiciously over his shoulder at him. 

TK is staring firmly at the ceiling and his cheeks are pinker than Nolan’s.

“You’ve seen me naked like, _so many_ times,” Nolan says, surprised out of his ire.

“Sure, in the locker room,” TK says, still inspecting the ceiling. “Anyway, we’re off topic. Why did you leave the bar? And why’ve you been biting my head off lately?”

“I always bite your head off,” Nolan says, bending to pull his pajama pants on. “That’s kind of a cornerstone of our relationship.”

“Okay,” TK forges on, an all-too-familiar set to his jaw, “but lately it seems more… deliberate. And also, like. You’re doing it every time I say you’re pretty, or give you a compliment.” 

“No I’m _not,”_ Nolan says, and brushes past him out of the bathroom.

TK follows, dogged as a pit bull. “I said you were pretty and you pushed me off your car. And at the bar? What was _that?”_

“That was me realizing my best friend is an idiot,” Nolan grits out.

“All I said was that you’re the pretty one, which is true—”

“No it’s _not,”_ Nolan spits, whirling on him. TK holds his ground, eyebrows shooting up. 

“But you _are_ pretty,” he points out.

“It’s not—” Nolan scowls, trying to find the words. “It’s that you keep _comparing_ us. You act like next to me, you’re what, ugly?”

TK’s eyebrows are in his hairline now. “I mean, I wouldn’t say I’m _ugly,”_ he hedges. “But I’m not, you know—” He gestures vaguely. “Like you’re _actually—”_

“If you say I’m pretty _one more time,”_ Nolan says through his teeth.

“Well, what do you _want_ me to say?” TK demands.

Nolan is suddenly, abruptly, irrevocably _done._ Done with the way TK needles him, the way he smiles, the way he never stops talking to the point that Nolan _misses_ it when he’s not yapping, some sort of Stockholm syndrome probably because God knows there’s no literal reason for him to _like_ it—he grabs TK’s face in both hands and slams their mouths together.

It’s an absolutely garbage kiss. TK was in the middle of saying something because of course he was, and he cuts off with a muffled squeak when Nolan’s mouth connects with his. Their noses collide and their teeth bump and clack and fuck, it’s all _wrong._

Nolan makes a frustrated noise, trying to pull away, but TK’s going up on tiptoe, he’s winding his arms around Nolan’s neck and tilting his head sideways and _oh—_ TK’s mouth is soft and wet and fits perfectly against Nolan’s, _this_ is what it’s supposed to be like. Nolan groans, deep in his throat, and TK muscles him back against the wall, wedging a knee between Nolan’s thighs.

“Fuck, bud, why didn’t you just _say_ something?” he gasps, his hands roaming all over Nolan’s stomach and chest, one slipping up under his shirt.

Nolan turns his face away and squeezes his eyes shut as TK brushes a nipple. “Could you _not_ call me bud—ah—when you’re like… feeling me up?”

TK laughs, breathless and triumphant. He goes up on tiptoe again and that shouldn’t make Nolan feel weak in the knees, it shouldn’t make him want to pick TK up and sling him over his shoulder so he can carry him into the bedroom and have his way with him, but TK’s mouth is on Nolan’s jaw and he’s balancing himself with a hand on Nolan’s chest, and there’s nothing for Nolan to do but _feel_ everything that’s roaring through him, helpless against the onslaught, laid bare and unable to stop it.

“Hey, hey,” TK says suddenly, pulling away. “Pat, you’re shaking.”

Nolan clutches at him, trying to wordlessly convey just how much he _doesn’t_ want to talk, and TK allows himself to be reeled back in, lifting his arms to wrap them around Nolan’s neck again. Nolan buries his face in the crook of TK’s neck, closing his eyes. TK is just so—he’s so solid, and warm, and there’s something so reassuring about the way no matter how hard Nolan pushes, he’ll always be back.

He realizes TK really _is_ stroking his hair, and briefly considers dying of humiliation. _Too much effort,_ he decides, and instead he nips at the tendon in TK’s neck.

TK twitches and makes a shocked noise. Encouraged, Nolan does it again, opening his mouth and scraping lightly across TK’s skin.

“F-fuck,” TK says raggedly. “Pats, I’m—can we maybe continue this somewhere horizontal?”

Nolan considers which is closer, bed or couch, and decides on the bed. He drags TK that way, not that TK is fighting him, and shoves him onto the mattress so hard he bounces.

TK flails through his laughter, trying to right himself, and holds out a hand, but Nolan doesn’t move.

“Pat, come on,” TK says.

“Shut up,” Nolan says absently. “I’m looking at you.”

TK rolls his eyes and puts his arms behind his head, arching his back. “Like what you see?” he purrs.

Nolan glares at him. “If you _ever_ say anything like that again, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” TK taunts.

“I won’t have sex with you.”

That stops TK in a hurry. “Pat,” he says, and his tone is completely different. “Nolan, please, will you—”

“Yeah,” Nolan says, and crawls onto the bed.

A knee on either side of TK’s hips, he settles himself on TK’s thighs and inspects him. TK squirms, but Nolan suspects it has more to do with the way he simply can’t ever be truly still, not because he’s uninterested in the proceedings.

“I like looking at you,” Nolan says after a minute, and TK’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Did you just say something nice?”

“Technically, no,” Nolan retorts. He pulls the hem of TK’s shirt up just enough to see the soft trail of hair that disappears under his waistband. “I was stating a fact. Something nice would be like… I think the way your mouth curves up at the corners right before you smile is really hot.”

TK gapes at him.

“Hypothetically,” Nolan says hurriedly. “I wasn’t _actually_ saying that.”

TK swallows hard. “Hypothetically… what else would be something nice someone might say?”

“In theory,” Nolan muses, drawing a finger through TK’s treasure trail just to watch him squirm, “maybe something like… I like the way you’re always there for me. That you _think_ about me. About like… how I feel.”

“Of course I do,” TK says, running his hands up Nolan’s forearms where he’s braced above him. “It’s _you,_ Pats. You—you’ve gotta know how I feel.”

“I don’t have to _know_ anything,” Nolan snaps. “Just because you never fucking shut up doesn’t mean you ever say anything _meaningful.”_

TK looks startled. “Meaningful, is it? That what you want?”

He plants a foot on the bed and pushes hard, tipping Nolan off balance and using the momentum to roll them, ending triumphantly on top as Nolan glares at him. 

“Oh yeah,” he muses, splaying both hands across Nolan’s rib cage. _“This_ is good. What a fucking _view.”_

Nolan squirms, tongue-tied. 

“You want meaningful, baby?” TK asks. “I’ll give you meaningful.” And before Nolan can recover from the pet name, he’s bent and pressed their mouths together, hot and hard and wanting. “I think about you all the time,” he says when he finally tears himself away, leaving Nolan dazed and blinking. “I love how grumpy you are when you wake up and when you have to talk to the media, and—” He pauses. “Well, pretty much all the time, I guess. Except for maybe when we’re on the ice. Your _smile,_ Pat. And god, I’d do horrible things to make you laugh. There’s nothing I want more. It makes me feel—like I did something good. Something _right._ All I want is to make you laugh all the time.”

Nolan swallows hard. “Trav,” he husks. 

TK’s face lights with his smile, and there’s something so soft and adoring in it that Nolan wants to close his eyes, turn away from the _honesty_ in TK’s expression, but instead he hooks a hand around the back of TK’s neck and drags him down into another kiss, pouring everything he can’t say, that he doesn’t have words for, that he may _never_ have words for, into the way their mouths fit together, how TK shudders when Nolan presses his tongue inside, demanding more than asking permission.

“Nolan,” TK gasps, pushing on his shoulders, and Nolan lifts his head just enough to see TK’s face. “I want you to fuck me.”

Nolan groans and buries his face in TK’s neck. He tastes like clean sweat and smells like cologne and laundry detergent. It’s entirely possible Nolan’s going to develop a Pavlovian boner to that particular combination, he thinks, and says it aloud just for the way TK tips his head back to laugh.

“Come on then,” TK says, wriggling underneath him and making Nolan’s eyes cross slightly from the sensation. “What are you waiting for?”

“Definitely not manners from you,” Nolan snipes, and goes up on his knees so he can pull TK’s pants down. There’s a minute where he’s not sure he’ll be able to figure out how the damn things open, but he figures it out before TK has to help him, thus saving his dignity. TK lifts his hips and Nolan pulls until the fabric gets jammed over TK’s frankly ridiculous thighs.

That’s fine by him—it leaves the most important area free for him to explore, but when he tries to lower his head and get… better acquainted, TK starts wriggling and squirming and making very plaintive noises.

“Fucking— _what?”_ Nolan demands, looking up.

TK’s expression is sheepish. “Not that I’m _complaining,_ like, but… you get anywhere near me with that ridiculous mouth of yours and it’s going to be over before we get started.”

Nolan considers. “Okay.”

“No!” TK yelps, grabbing Nolan’s hair, which—rude. He hauls him up just enough to drag his pants off and then rolls them so he’s on top.

Now Nolan has an armful of a half-naked TK, something he’s very onboard with, especially with the way TK’s got his thigh shoved between Nolan’s again and is grinding down against him, his eyes going soft and unfocused.

“Fuck, feels so good,” he mutters, dipping his head to kiss the line of Nolan’s jaw even as his hips roll. The friction makes Nolan’s toes curl, and he flails for purchase, ending up with two handfuls of TK’s ass. _“Now_ we’re talking,” TK groans, his breath shuddery, stilted and catching in his throat, and grinds down harder.

Nolan wants to make him _beg._ Make him cry, make him scream, break him down until his entire existence _is_ Nolan and what he’s doing to him.

But—he also wants to be gentle, to make TK feel good, to make _love_ to him, and the conflicting emotions are threatening to pull him apart from the inside out.

Feelings are weird and stupid and Nolan’s not a fan.

TK’s still babbling as he kisses along Nolan’s jaw. “You know how long I’ve wanted you?” he whispers. 

“H-how long?” Nolan’s not sure how he manages to form the words, considering how distracting TK’s mouth is.

The question seems to stump TK, who laughs breathlessly and nips Nolan’s chin. “Long fucking time, baby.”

Nolan shudders. He doesn’t know if it’s the endearment or what TK’s _doing,_ but he feels overloaded, like he’s fraying at the seams, and he can’t say it, can’t tell TK how he feels, so instead he rolls them again so he’s on top, grabbing TK’s wrists in one hand and pinning them above his head.

“Oh, oh god, oh _yes,”_ TK whimpers. He’s squirming, but not like he’s trying to get away. More like he just can’t contain how good it feels.

Nolan can relate. He stretches TK’s arms up higher, so his knuckles are brushing the bed frame. “Hold on and don’t let go,” he orders.

“Fuck, of course you’re a toppy bastard,” TK breathes, even as he grabs hold of the slat, gripping so hard the tendons stand out in his arms. He’s so hot Nolan absolutely can’t stand it. He lowers his head and bites down on the tendon in TK’s left arm, not gently. It’s an experiment of sorts, a test to see if TK will obey.

TK _shouts._ His heels scrabble against the bedspread and he arches his back, thrashing helplessly, but he doesn’t let go.

A strange pride wells in Nolan’s chest and he kisses the bite mark he left, soothing the sting with lips and tongue. He wishes he knew how to _tell_ TK how good he is, but the words won’t come, so instead he leans up and kisses him, putting everything he’s feeling into the kiss.

TK pants against his mouth, his chest heaving. “Pat,” he whispers when Nolan lifts his head. “Please—”

“Do you have anything?” Nolan asks.

“B-bedside table,” TK manages, and Nolan dips his head to kiss him again briefly before stretching across him to fumble the drawer open. Inside he finds lube and several condoms. He holds them up, fanning them out and arching one brow. TK laughs. “Ambitious much, bud?”

“What did I say about calling me bud while we’re naked?” Nolan chides.

“Technically only _I’m_ naked,” TK points out. “Also I’m Canadian. It’s not like I can just turn it off.”

Nolan rolls his eyes and slides off the bed just long enough to shuck his clothes. TK whistles appreciatively and Nolan levels a glare at him.

“What, I’m not allowed to think you’re hot?” TK protests. “Isn’t that how we got here?”

Nolan climbs back on the bed and nudges TK’s thighs apart. “We got here because I kissed you,” he reminds him, and straddles one leg.

TK seems to have forgotten how to speak, mouth opening and closing. Nolan takes a minute to enjoy the novelty, even as he notices how TK’s _still_ gripping the headboard, knuckles white.

Nolan circles a wrist with his fingers and pulls gently until TK lets go. Holding his eyes, he kisses TK’s palm, and TK swallows audibly.

“I’m not gonna survive this,” he says, voice wobbly.

“You’d better,” Nolan says, mock-severe. “I’m hoping this isn’t the only time we do this.”

TK whines, twisting his hips. “Get _on_ with it then, would you?”

Nolan takes pity on him and brushes his knuckles across TK’s shaft, dark red and leaking steadily. TK groans, twitching, and Nolan scoops up the lube.

“When’s the last time you did this?” he asks as he coats several fingers.

“Been—a few years,” TK says, watching Nolan’s hands as if spellbound.

“I’ll go slow,” Nolan promises, and presses the tip of his index finger to TK’s hole.

TK’s eyes slip closed, back arching again as Nolan slides inside. He’s burning hot, tight and clenching around Nolan’s finger, and Nolan has to grip himself hard to keep from coming even as he pushes deeper.

“Feels—” 

“Yeah?” Nolan’s breathless too. TK’s grinding his hips down as Nolan adds another finger and makes a sob rip free from his chest.

“Patty— _Nolan,”_ he chokes. “Please, please, I need you, _please—”_

“You have me,” Nolan whispers. He twists his wrist, searching for that spot, and TK shouts and jolts forward, clutching desperately at any part of Nolan he can reach.

 _“Stop,”_ he begs. “Too soon, _please_ not yet—”

Nolan eases off, letting him sag back against the bed and dragging in air. “Ready for another?” he asks, and TK moans.

“Ready for your _dick.”_

“Not yet,” Nolan says. He adds a third finger, stretching the muscles until TK is wordlessly thrashing, grabbing at Nolan’s arm and pulling, begging him with his eyes.

Nolan bends to kiss him even as he thrusts deep, scissoring his fingers and making TK jerk and pant wetly against his mouth.

“I’m ready,” he whines when Nolan breaks for air. “I swear, Pat, I’m ready, don’t make me wait any longer—”

Nolan kisses him again, hard and fast, then sits up, groping for a condom.

“Oh, thank _fuck,”_ TK says as Nolan settles himself between his spread thighs. “Took you long enough, were you hoping for an engraved invi—” He cuts off with a strangled noise as Nolan pushes inside, sliding deep in a smooth, controlled slide. 

There’s breathless silence for a few minutes as Nolan struggles to parse what he’s feeling. He’s not sure what TK’s experiencing, but judging from his blissed out expression and the way he’s shuddering, he’s definitely enjoying himself. He’s velvet heat around Nolan’s cock, internal muscles flexing, and Nolan thinks distantly he could come just like this.

TK would probably kill him, though.

“Come on,” TK says. He hooks a heel around Nolan’s hips. “Fuck me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nolan echoes, and obeys.

For once, TK doesn’t have any commentary on the situation. His eyes are fixed on Nolan’s face as Nolan thrusts, his lips parted, and Nolan loves him so much he can’t breathe. He settles into a steady rhythm, finding an angle that makes TK cry out every time he slams home, and focuses on not embarrassing himself.

That’s not going to be an issue, he realizes shortly, because TK’s noises are getting more and more frantic, face contorting and fingers digging deep into Nolan’s biceps.

“Gonna—oh fuck, oh _fuck—”_ He throws his head back as he comes, a tight, shuddery vise around Nolan’s cock and there’s nothing for it—Nolan follows him over the edge, driving deep and emptying into the condom in helpless waves before collapsing on top of him.

TK grunts but doesn’t complain, threading his fingers through Nolan’s hair. His touch is gentle, almost reverent.

“So I guess you think I’m pretty too, huh?” he murmurs after a few minutes.

Nolan manages to lift his head enough to glare at him, still buried to the hilt inside him. TK’s grin just widens, and Nolan sighs and presses his face to TK’s throat again.

“Teeks—” His voice fails him. What is he supposed to say? 

“I know,” TK says, petting his hair. “You don’t have to say it, Patty. I know.”

Nolan kisses the skin under his lips and TK sighs, stretching like a contented house cat. 

“The wait was worth it,” he says, and Nolan can _hear_ the smile in his voice but he’s too exhausted and happy to do anything about it.

He’ll get him back later.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, [I'm on Tumblr](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com) more than is probably healthy, and I love talking to people, so come say hi!


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